Annihilation Of Dread
by ilovebotdf111
Summary: Alone, depressed, and unhinged, SpongeBob recounts painful memories that force him to grapple with his sanity. As SpongeBob is forced to come to terms with what he's done, someone from his troubled past returns to wreak havoc on Bikini Bottom.
1. Prologue

SpongeBob let out a dreamy sigh as the needle punctured his vein, releasing the delicious heroin that he so needed and so craved. He focused all of his attention on that moment; to him, there was nothing else, or nothing greater, than this. SpongeBob has found that his only source of joy now comes from the needle.

To him, heroin is an allure that cannot be shaken. Then again, even if he could muster up the strength to throw this addiction, he simply wouldn't want to. Without heroin, what is there? SpongeBob's life certainly isn't what it used to be, that's for damn sure. The only solace he will ever find is inside of his intoxicated mind.

All SpongeBob wants to do is forget. Forget what he's done. Forget every good memory he's ever cherished. They hold nothing but biting pain for him now.

The only thing worse than his memories is his loneliness. Everyone he once cherished has left him. He is now completely abandoned in this life. SpongeBob has grown to be a recluse; In fact, he hasn't stepped outside in about four weeks. Most of the time he doesn't eat, and when he does it's usually Gary's snailfood.

The pain that SpongeBob feels inside cannot be shaken. He wonders if he will ever find salvation from this punishment. SpongeBob can feel his sanity unravel every minute he's awake. On that front, the heroin helps, but sometimes the memories won't cease to enter his weakened mine. SpongeBob has no strength left to fight.

All he can do now is remember, and that's what's killing him.


	2. Death of Mr Krabs

SpongeBob's first memory carried him back to the last time he saw Mr. Krabs. SpongeBob felt as if he was actually there; he could feel everything as he remembered it. He remembered the medicinal smell of the hospital. He remembered the cold air of the outside blowing through the window. He remembered the look in Mr. Krabs' eyes. The look of someone that doesn't have much time left.

Mr. Krabs was lying in the hospital bed, struggling to catch his breath. The doctors scurried around him, exchanging old oxygen masks for new ones, propping his head up on a pillow; they were doing what they were trained to do. SpongeBob, on the other hand, had no idea what he should do.

Squidward, sat down in a chair at the far side of the room. SpongeBob couldn't help but stare at him, observing his features. He appeared tired, with dark circles around his eyes. But one could also see that he was worried. Squidward knew just as well as SpongeBob that Mr. Krabs wasn't going to survive the next hour.

SpongeBob walked to Squidward hurriedly, partly because he wanted to be with him, partly because a doctor had yelled at him to "get the fuck out of the way". SpongeBob sat down in the chair next to Squidward's, and he found himself at a loss for words.

"Squidward, I-"

"I don't want to hear it," Squidward harshly interrupted. SpongeBob was hurt by this, and found that he was mildly angry. But why would he be angry at Squidward? SpongeBob knew that only he was to blame.

It was at this moment that, unexpectedly, Squidward said, "How could you be so careless?"

"I didn't – I'm sorry," SpongeBob weakly replied. He could feel that he was on the verge of tears.

Squidward got up and motioned to SpongeBob. "We need to talk outside. Let the doctors do their jobs." Squidward walked out of the room, and SpongeBob followed him.

When they reached the outside courtyard, SpongeBob could see people coming out of the hospital. Some of them were crying, some of them were happy. SpongeBob had a feeling that after this, he'd never be happy again.

"Squidward, I'm sorry—" SpongeBob was interrupted by a harsh slap in the face from Squidward. SpongeBob immediately started to cry.

"This is all your fault you fucking psycho!" Squidward shouted, giving SpongeBob another smack. "How could you be so fucking careless!" SpongeBob was crying throughout the entire tirade, which irritated Squidward more. "You killed him!"

At this, SpongeBob desperately shouted "No!", though it was muffled through his crying.

"I've been warning you all these years that you were bound to get someone killed. And look what happened." Squidward turned his back to SpongeBob. "I'm amazed you didn't kill me after all these years."

"Squidward please! You know it was an accident! How was I supposed to know this would happen?" SpongeBob stammered through tears. "Oh Neptune, how am I gonna live with myself now?"

Squidward looked at SpongeBob, almost fuming with anger. "After what you just did, I hope that you die too!" Squidward screamed at the top of his lungs. With that, Squidward retreated back into the hospital, going to pay his last respects. SpongeBob wondered if he should follow, and decided against it. It would be too much for him.

All he could do now was prepare himself for the inevitable police interrogation.


	3. The Interrogation

As soon as that painful memory ended, another one took its place.

In an instant, SpongeBob's unraveling mind transported him to the Bikini Bottom Police Department interrogation room. SpongeBob nervously observed the room around him. It was cold, dark, and metallic. The chair he was forced to sit on was made of steel, and wasn't at all comfortable. SpongeBob felt as if he were about to throw up.

SpongeBob heard a knock at the heavy metal door, and he prepared himself for what was to come. The door swung open, and two officers walked in. There aren't many words to describe what they looked like. Perhaps 'big' could be one of them, as they were both at least six feet tall and muscular.

One of the officers threw a pen and piece of paper in front of SpongeBob. He looked up at one of the officers; he didn't understand what this implied.

"Sign there," the officer said, putting his finger on a dotted line. The officer, waited a moment, and must have noticed the look of puzzlement on SpongeBob's face. "This is a confession."

"Confession? Why would I confess?" SpongeBob asked sincerely.

The officers looked at each other, both irritated. "We have no shortage of witnesses that saw what you did today," one of the officers stated. "We don't need to question you. We have all the evidence we need."

SpongeBob's head started to spin. What was he expected to do? Give up some of his self-worth and hand himself over like a dirty dishrag? SpongeBob felt angry and confused. "I don't understand," he mumbled.

"We don't care if you don't fucking understand," one officer said harshly. "Our job is to get a confession, and God help you if we don't." The other officer looked sternly at his compatriot.

He let out an irritated sigh, saying, "Look, kid, if you don't sign this confession, the jury's going to go a lot harder on you," the officer gave a fake smile. "We're trying to look out for you here."

SpongeBob could see that there was no way out of this. He gripped the pen and signed his name. He almost vomited; how could he confess to committing such a heinous act? How could he be capable of such a vile deed?

SpongeBob questioned if he was having a horrible nightmare, but all hopes were dashed when he felt the cold metal of handcuffs clasp against his wrists.

"There's no easy way to say this kid, but you're gonna go to prison for a while. There's just no way around it," an officer stated. "We would help you out more, but we've done all we can."

SpongeBob was then escorted out of the interrogation room and into a cold cell. Once the door was shut behind him, the sheriff walked up to his cell.

"I've been tasked to inform you that your trial date has been scheduled for next Thursday. Good Luck."

Luck. That was something that SpongeBob was short on. Something he desperately needed. But he knew that no amount of luck could save him from this mess.


	4. The Trial

SpongeBob's mind jumped him a week ahead, into the day of the trial. SpongeBob was not at all prepared for it, and he was restless. All he wanted to do was get it all over with. He just wanted to go to prison. He wanted to be punished for what he's done. In fact, for him, he thought that prison wasn't punishment enough.

In truth, SpongeBob wanted to die more than anything. The guilt he felt was eating away at his body and mind, and there was no sanctuary from it. The only true respite would be death, which he feared would be a long time coming.

"SpongeBob Squarepants!" a guard shouted. SpongeBob shot to his feet quickly. "It's time, kid." Two officers opened the door to his cell and gripped him by both arms, escorting him out of the jail and into a vehicle with dark tinted windows.

"It'll take us about ten minutes to reach the courthouse," the driver started with a smile. "I suggest you enjoy your last moments as a free man." He and another officer started chuckling quietly. SpongeBob was annoyed at their lack of pity. How could they not empathize with a man that made a simple mistake? It's not as if SpongeBob _wanted_ to kill Mr. Krabs. It was all an accident. Or, at least, that's what he told himself.

They arrived at the courthouse in fifteen minutes. The driver had not only lied about their arrival time, but they were also uncourteously late, both of which did not help with SpongeBob's mood. What kind of picture does it paint when a man arrives late to his own trial?

SpongeBob was escorted into the courthouse by the officers. Upon entering the building, a swarm of paparazzi fell upon them, most of them shouting rude remarks and asking hurtful questions. SpongeBob just wanted this ordeal to be over.

He finally entered the courtroom. The judge looked intently at him, and he had an irritated look on his face. "Ah, Mr. Squarepants. Nice of you to finally join us." This remark was followed by soft laughter from the jury and audience. "Now, let's get down to business. State your name to the jury."

SpongeBob turned to the jury. "Hi everyone. My name is SpongeBob Squarepants."

"Good, you're a natural at this," the judge sarcastically stated. "The prosecution will now make an opening statement."

A well-groomed lawyer stood up to SpongeBob's right, taking a moment to slick back his hair and take a sip of water. He then slowly made his way to the front of the room. "Your honor," he said, courteously. He cleared his throat, and then began. "SpongeBob Squarepants. We all know this name. Most of us have sampled one of his sandwiches at the Krusty Krab. There is no denying how talented Mr. Squarepants was at his job. But perhaps there was another craft that Mr. Squarepants excelled at: Murder."

SpongeBob got to his feet and shouted "Objection!"

The judge, annoyed, replied, "Mr. Squarepants, you cannot object an opening statement. The prosecution will continue."

The lawyer cleared his throat. "Thank you, your honor. Yes, that's right: Murder! There are multiple eye witness accounts that tell of the goings on in the Krusty Krab last week. All of these witnesses definitively agree on one thing: Mr. Squarepants murdered Mr. Krabs in cold blood. That's all, your honor."

SpongeBob couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could feel himself start shivering. He started to break out in a cold sweat. He felt as though he was going to black out, but he knew that he had to keep his wits about him. But who did this royal fucker think he was, accusing him of such a horrendous deed? SpongeBob had half a mind to kill the bastard. And, at that thought, he relaxed a bit.

The judge stiffened in his seat. "There will be no defense in this particular trial. SpongeBob has confessed of his guilt. That, with the sheer magnitude of witnesses at our disposal, leave the jury with one simple conclusion: guilty. The objective of this trial will be to decide what punishment Mr. Squarepants will receive, and of what severity. Mr. Squarepants will now take the stand."

SpongeBob sheepishly got to his feet and walked slowly to the stand. He wasn't sure of what he was supposed to do, and looked at the audience. It felt like he was some animal in a zoo. Or, perhaps an even better comparison, a freak in a freak-show.

The bailiff leaned in and whispered into his ear. "You're supposed to be making your case, kid."

SpongeBob took a deep breath. "I did not mean to…" SpongeBob was caught on the word. He struggled to continue. "… Kill Mr. Krabs. He was like a father to me. He never treated me with disrespect,"

"Oh come on, everyone knows that Krabs was a greedy cheapskate that abused his workers," the prosecutor interrupted. "I believe that you killed Mr. Krabs out of anger. You felt you were being used. You were sick of him. You don't want to admit it, but after all these years, you wanted him gone."

SpongeBob stared angrily at the prosecutor. Unexpectedly, SpongeBob stated, "You're right." The audience and jury let out a loud gasp that seemed to almost shake the room. SpongeBob unknowingly was grinning like a man possessed. He didn't even appear like his usual self. He looked completely insane.

"You're right!" he continued. "I killed him! Of course I did! The fucking bastard deserved it. But I'm not selfish. I didn't do this for me, no. I did everyone a favor."

At this, a juror stood up and shouted "We find SpongeBob guilty of first degree murder."

The judge banged his gavel and attempted to restore the court back to order, which was a futile attempt. The judge yelled above the noise of the courtroom, "SpongeBob Squarepants, I sentence you to twenty years in solitary confinement." He banged his gavel one more time, after which he stood up and left the court room briskly.

SpongeBob started to laugh maniacally. Two guards grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him outside. They roughly threw him into the back of an armored van, and began the long drive to Bikini Bottom Maximum Security Prison. Throughout the entire hour-long drive, SpongeBob couldn't stop laughing.


	5. The Visitor

SpongeBob awoke from his heroin-fueled trance with a gasp. Wide-eyed and covered with stinking sweat, he looked around the room quickly. He felt horribly sick, but even more discomforting was the extreme paranoia. SpongeBob had an inescapable feeling that he was going to die.

But what did he care? Hell, if some crazy fuckhole barged into his house right now, itching to blow SpongeBob's miserable brain out of it's rotten shell, he would probably welcome his fate with open arms. He wouldn't even resist. Just thinking about it made SpongeBob relax.

SpongeBob wanted to die. That's all he's wanted for several months now, but he's too much of a coward to end his life himself - he's just not ready. Or, at least, not yet. SpongeBob's killed several people in his life, but the act of killing himself seems to be a distinct challenge that requires more strength than he had realized.

SpongeBob was jerked out of thought by a knock at the door. No, not a knock - a scrape. The sound reminded him of long nails scraping against chalkboard. SpongeBob started to shiver in fear, even though he had no knowledge of what awaited beyond the door.

"Who- Who's there?" SpongeBob stammered out nervously. There was no response. SpongeBob waited for several minutes. He wondered if he should open the door, but he was too terrified to do so. He hoped that whomever was behind the door had left.

After an hour of inactivity, SpongeBob came to the comfortable conclusion that he was alone. SpongeBob got up and walked over to his disheveled sofa and sat beside Gary, who was in a deep sleep. Gary was the only being that SpongeBob still loved. As long as he has Gary, SpongeBob will feel at least somewhat needed.

SpongeBob grabbed the remote and turned on the Shellovision. He immediately turned to a porn channel and started to relax. He started to drift off into sleep, when suddenly he heard a loud, thunderous thump at the door.

It jolted him awake, and the sound even managed to roust Gary. SpongeBob felt terror envelope his entire body. The suddenness of the sound terrified SpongeBob to urinate, but he didn't even notice - he was much too scared to pay attention to such trivial things.

"Get the fuck out of here!" SpongeBob shouted. He tried his best to mask the horror in his voice, but he failed. His demand was answered by a thump, just as loud as the first one. SpongeBob felt like he was going to cry.

Thumps in rapid succession started emanating from the door. They were all tremendously loud. THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. SpongeBob had to cover his ears due to the extreme volume of each thump. Tears started to roll down his cheeks. He couldn't think. He was petrified with fear.

Just as suddenly as the thumping started, it stopped. SpongeBob let out a pained wail of fear. He grabbed Gary tightly and pulled him toward his chest in order to comfort him. But for some reason, Gary felt intensely cold. SpongeBob looked down at his beloved pet.

Gary was dead. SpongeBob reactively dropped his body in shock. Gary hit the floor stiffly, his body stiff with rigor mortis. SpongeBob got down on his knees, and started to hyperventilate. He grabbed Gary's corpse and started to shake it sporadically. "Wake up Gary! Wake up!" SpongeBob shouted in vain.

In that instant, SpongeBob was robbed of all his hope and love. He was robbed of the one thing that kept him going. SpongeBob's fear suddenly was mixed with abrasive depression. He was so consumed with emotion that he collapsed limply onto the ground.

After a calm few minutes of grief, he he heard a whisper through the door, but he couldn't hear what it said. SpongeBob's curiosity eventually broke through his fear, forcing him to get closer to the door so he could hear what was being said.

When he reached the door's inside face, he put his ear onto it. He heard nothing for a moment, but eventually he could hear the whisper. One that wasn't paying attention could mistake the whisper for wind, but SpongeBob's adrenaline-fueled body was able to decipher it.

The whisper's voice sounded pained, as if someone was hurt badly. "Come… Outside… Please…." the whisper said hauntingly. SpongeBob felt goosebumps rise above his skin. "It… Hurts…" it continued. SpongeBob began to feel very cold.

"Help… Me…"

SpongeBob spontaneously threw open the door, partly out of anger, partly out of grief - mostly out of stupidity.

He was surprised to find no one there.

That is, no one besides the dark shadow of a figure staring at him across the street.


	6. Enigma

Halfway across Bikini Bottom, whilst SpongeBob was trying to discern who his visitor was, Detective Phil P. Phish was investigating what he believed to be a recent escape from Bikini Bottom Maximum Security Prison. Phil took a deep breath through his nose, almost gagging on the scent of mildew that was trapped within the prison walls. Phil forced himself to take a sip of coffee to try and wake himself up.

"What do we have here?" a reporter suddenly inquired of him.

Annoyed, Phil responded harshly. "What the fuck does it look like, dumb ass?" The reporter let out a frustrated sigh and left Phil to continue his work. To be honest, Phil wasn't sure what he had here. No one told him anything about the crime; he was going in cold. Phil stepped into the cell where the crime began, and examined his surroundings closely.

"Phish, I think you should come see this," the coroner stated from across the room. "It's better to examine the body before we look through the scene." Phil looked over to him, and then stared at the mangled and twisted body lying prostrate on the ground.

"I beg to differ. This is how I always do things." Phil stated.

"Yeah, and you haven't solved a case in a year and a half," someone snickered behind him. Phil didn't even feel angry about it; why get angry at facts?

Phil turned away from the coroner and started to peruse through the evidence that was marked. Above the inmate's bed was a window with three iron bars denying exit. This was a problem - there should have been four. Phil went over to a shelf and examined a hastily made shiv. The bloodstains on the blade made it obvious that it had been used before, but the stains were dry and faded, meaning it hasn't been used in quite a while.

And that was it. Phil swore to himself. There was a painful lack of evidence here. Phil hoped that the body would uncover some answers that he desperately needed. Phil walked over to the coroner and hunched over the body.

"Tell me what you've found here, doc." Phil stated.

"Don't call me doc," the coroner snidely replied. He pointed to the neck. "Deep lacerations to the carotid. This no doubt was the cause of death."

"That's it?"

"Let me finish, detective," the coroner responded, annoyed. He then pointed at the wrists. "These bruises suggest that he was gripped tightly, probably thrown onto the ground from the looks of it." Phil let out a sigh. "And if you look here detective, you'll notice that the victim's back is broken, evidenced by the abnormal curvature of the spine and the protrusion of the seventh vertebrae."

"And who the fuck cares?" Phish blurted out. "There's no evidence here."

At this, a patrolman came over. "Sir, the reason this is important isn't because of the victim's cause of death, it's the victim himself."

"So what? Let's just get the body properly ID'd and get the hell out of here."

"I already took the liberty of looking through the prison files. I've ID'd the victim," the patrolman said.

"What would looking through prison files have to do with the victim?"

The coroner got up and put his hand on Phil's shoulder. "Phil, this victim wasn't killed by the prisoner. He _is_ the prisoner."

No one said anything for more than a minute. Phil's brain was running a mile a minute. Things didn't make sense here. Did the prisoner escape, just to be killed right outside of his cell by a security guard? No, that didn't make sense. All security guards were accounted for, and none of them took responsibility for the slaying. Someone came into the prison under cover of darkness and murdered a prisoner. But why?

"So that means the killer is out there. He's free in Bikini Bottom," Phil stammered out.

The coroner nervously nodded his head. "That seems to be the case," he agreed.


	7. Ghost

SpongeBob took partial cover behind the door, shaking with fear as he observed the shadow-like figure of whomever was across the street. "Who the _fuck_ are you," Spongebob exclaimed, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "And what do you want from me?" The shadowy figure did not respond, it just stood there like a statue.

"You were pretty vocal when I was inside, asshole!" SpongeBob shouted, both frightened and angered by the sudden silence of his visitor. His mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to make connections that weren't there. Who could this possibly be?

Suddenly, the shadow took a step towards the house. SpongeBob went numb. He was petrified with fear – he couldn't think or move, just watch with morbid curiosity as the shadow clumsily stumbled toward him. The shadow kept taking small, slow steps towards the house, using what seemed to be all of its energy to do so.

It seemed to take an hour, but the shadow had finally made it across the street. In just a few more steps, he would be where SpongeBob was standing, close enough to give him a handshake and a how-do-you-do – but SpongeBob had a feeling that there would be no niceties such as those. Spongebob, hyperventilating, began to go back into his house, preparing to slam the door shut. He was stopped in his tracks by the Shadow's raspy, tired voice. "Not even a hello after all these years, boyo?"

SpongeBob spun around, shocked. What did he mean, 'after all these years'? SpongeBob couldn't believe it. Could it be? No, that's preposterous, there's no way it could be him. But the way he talked, it reminded him so much of…

"Mr. Krabs?"

With that, the shadowy figure took his final steps into the light from SpongeBob's house, revealing a tired, old shell of a man. "Nice to see ya, SpongeBob me boy," Mr. Krabs sputtered. He pushed his way into the house clumsily, going straight for the couch, sitting down with a long sigh of relief. "I hope ye don't mind, but me dogs're barkin'. They're really killin' me today!"

SpongeBob didn't say anything, he just observed. This could not be Mr. Krabs, for obvious reasons, and for some others. For instance, this Mr. Krabs must be ninety years old, with a hideous scar slashed across his eye. His shell was sagging, stressed by his age, and his eyes were yellow and bloodshot.

Mr. Krabs' eyes locked with SpongeBob's. "Well," Mr. Krabs began. "Ain't ya happy to see me?"

"Not really," SpongeBob replied. "I killed you." Mr. Krabs let out a slight chuckle, wheezing in between laughs.

"Yeah, about that. We need to talk, boyo." Mr. Krabs patted the seat next to him, signaling SpongeBob to join him on the couch. SpongeBob reluctantly made his way to the couch and sat down awkwardly.

"Obviously this is all very hard for me to take in." SpongeBob said.

"I ain't doubtin' ya boyo!"

"I need an explanation. Now," Spongebob stuttered, trying to fight back tears. Mr. Krabs let out a long sigh, making it obvious that this wasn't going to be easy to explain or understand.

"I – " Mr. Krabs stammered, trying to gather his thoughts on what he should say. "What I'm about to tell ya is gonna come as a… shock. Yer not gonna believe it. Yer gonna deny it. And, well, I would too if I was in yer fuckin' shoes," Mr. Krabs stopped momentarily to catch his breath. He put a claw on SpongeBob's shoulder, saying "I want ya to know that everything I'm sayin', no matter how hard it is to believe, is the truth. I wouldn't lie to ya after all these years."

"Well," SpongeBob said meekly. "Better get started."

Mr. Krabs smiled. "Yeah, better get started."


	8. A Night at the Office

Detective Phish sat quietly yet restlessly at his desk, staring into his bright computer screen in his pitch-black office. Tired, he stretch and cracked his back, leaning forward to rub his strained eyes. His optometrist always told him to stop using the computer in the dark. He let out a slight, knowing chuckle – he would never listen.

Phish stood up from his chair, ready to get some more coffee, when his phone started buzzing on the desk. He sighed and picked it up quickly, squinting at the screen.

CUM 2 MORG RN - ALAN

Detective Phish chuckled at his colleague's spelling, but knew this was no laughing matter. Deciding to forgo his coffee break, Phish made his way into the basement of Bikini Bottom PD, fighting through bustling hallways filled with sleep-deprived cops. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time he entered the morgue.

"Neptune, I can never get used to that smell," Phish barked, getting the attention of Alan, the coroner. "Didn't we already figure out a cause of death, Alan?"

Alan Unagi excitedly shot out of his seat, replying, "Yes, Phish, we have our cause of death. But I just recently found something else." He went over to the stretcher where the body was laying, pointing at the neck.

Phish didn't understand, giving a small shrug and a quick shake of the head. He had already seen the laceration to the carotid, what more was there? Alan let out an annoyed sigh. He gripped the cadaver's head, turning it so that the neck was prominently showing.

"Bruises?" Phil ignorantly asked.

"No. Well, yes, but not _just_ bruises. Strangulation marks."

"How did we not see that before?"

Alan, frustrated, responded "I honestly have no idea, but the fact that you didn't notice when I pointed it out should be a good indication." Phish broke a smug grin. Alan, attempting to get back on track, stated "But these aren't ligature marks. No, these are bruises made by hands. Whose MO does that fit?"

"Fuck me," Phish said, shocked. "It's him. It's the Strangler." He looked at Alan sternly, who shared his serious expression. "It's the goddamned Tattle-Tale Strangler."

"The strangler must have had a reason to break into the prison and kill the victim."

"He killed him because he was ready to rat someone out." Phish said. "The balls on that motherfucker," Phish turned to leave the morgue, running up the stairs quickly.

He grabbed a fish at his side, "I want an alert put out right now. The Bikini Bottom Strangler is at large, wanted for first degree murder. I want him brought in _now._ " The fish agreed and scurried off in the other direction.

Phish walked outside and lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall. He let out a puff and observed the city. It was lit up and deceptively gorgeous during this dark night.

"Things are about to get interesting."


	9. Introspection

**_Let's get started, boyo'._**

SpongeBob woke up in a sweaty heap on the floor. "What… What the fuck?" he stammered, his head plagued with piercing pain. Frantically, he buried his head in his hands, desperately seeking alleviation from his migraine.

Suddenly he shot back to reality. SpongeBob hurried to get on his feet and hysterically looked around his house, searching for Mr. Krabs. "Mr. Krabs!" SpongeBob shouted at the top of his lungs, knowing already that he had never came to visit. That would be impossible, he's been dead for so long.

SpongeBob dejectedly crumpled onto the ground, knowing that his vision of Mr. Krabs was just a heroin-fueled illusion. His mind wanted desperately to take back what he had done, to right his wrong, to alleviate his guilt. But deep down SpongeBob knew that no matter how much heroin he shot into his veins, it would never be enough to change the past and to absolve him of his sins.

 _But why the fuck can't I just be_ _ **rid**_ _of him? Why can I not stop thinking about him? Why does his memory torment me after all these years?_

 _They said the drugs would help. They said the drugs would take my mind off of it. They said the drugs would make life easier. As if it never even happened. That's what they said._

 _But he's still with me today, in some shape or form. I can't fucking get rid of him! If I knew it would be like this, I never would have taken the drugs. I never would have…_

 _It's no use thinking about it anymore. Why do I always torture myself? What's done is done. I can't change what I did, so there's no use thinking about it, right? Right!_

 _I served my time. I paid my dues. Fuck it, I'm still paying them. But that doesn't change the fact that he's never coming back. And that's my fault. It's all my fault._

 _There I go again. Just fucking stop thinking about it, dammit! If I don't stop thinking about it, he'll never leave me alone! I'll never be able to live in peace! I'll never be able to_ _ **die**_ _in peace._

 _Just. Don't. Think about it._

 _Just. Don't. Think about it._

 _Just. Don't. Think about it._

 _Oh dear Neptune, just leave me alone._


	10. Cold Case

Detective Phish was standing outside of the Bikini Bottom Police Department smoking a cigarette. He took long drags to try and calm his frayed nerves, but nothing seemed to help him in this ultra-stressed state. It's been three days since he's issued the warrant for The Strangler's arrest, and so far it's been three days of nothing.

Phish stamped his spent cigarette out on the pavement just as Alan Unagi came to join him. Glad to have some company, Phish searched his pockets for his box of smokes, but couldn't find them. Phish let out a stressed sigh – he must have left them inside.

"I'll be right back Alan, I'm gonna go grab a cigarette," Phish announced.

"Don't bother, I've got some right here," Alan replied, presenting a fresh box of cheap cigarettes. He quickly removed the wrapper and dropped it lazily onto the ground. Ironically, none of the employees of the police department cared about the "no littering" policy throughout Bikini Bottom. Alan popped open the box and handed Phish a fresh cigarette, which was eagerly accepted.

"Now tell me something, Alan," Phish began, smirking, taking the cigarette from his friend. "Why is a doctor like you handing out cigs like they're candy?"

"I'm not a fucking doctor." Phish started chuckling at this and lit his cigarette.

"Well, thanks anyway. Doctor." They both leaned up against the grimy brick wall at the front of the department, which was mired by smog and acid rain. The two smoked silently for a while, both of them waiting for the other to inevitably bring up the matter at hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, Phish sighed and said, "We _will_ get him, you know."

Alan shrugged and let out a puff of smoke. "I never said we wouldn't."

"You were thinking it."

"You were too." Phish quickly glanced at Alan, feeling a tinge of anger building within him. It's no secret that Phish hasn't solved a case in almost two years. This includes petty crimes such as robbery and assault, which are usually handled by beat cops due to their relative ease. Phish couldn't even remember the last time he was able to crack a murder case.

"No. We'll find him," Phish said, as much to himself as to Alan. He threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. "The warrant's only been up for three days. We just need to give it some time."

"Phil, I'm not worried about the warrant. I'm worried about _you_. When was the last time you've slept?"

"I'm fine. Nothing coffee and cigarettes can't fix," Phish replied with a forced smile. "Besides, a bad detective is the one who sleeps the most."

"Tell that to the ones that are meeting quota every year," Alan replied. A shocked silence fell between the both of them for a few moments. Alan rubbed the back of his head and let out a sigh, saying, "Sorry Phil, that was totally uncalled for."

"Well, you're not wrong," Phish responded with surprising acceptance. "Look, I'll be fine. I'll catch The Strangler and then I can rest."

"That's not all you need to be worried about Phil. The chief is about ready to fire your ass."

"You fucking think I don't know that? I'm amazed that he's kept me on for so long."

"I'm just saying… Don't you think you should be out there? You know, being a detective? Looking for witnesses, interrogating them, putting the puzzle pieces together, all of that great shit?"

"For what? I put out the fucking warrant. Now we wait." Phil said, feeling his anger rising. He knew he was in the wrong, but in truth, he was scared that he would never be able to pull it all together and solve this case, just like all the rest. Much better, and easier, if someone else did his job for him.

"You act like I don't know you, Phil," Alan said heatedly. "You act like you don't give a damn about any of this. You act like you don't care that there's a fucking _murderer_ loose in your city!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Phil grunted through his teeth, turning sharply to Alan.

"You act like you'd be just fine without this job. You act like everything would be hunky-dory. Well, Phil, I know you too damn well. I know that you'd fucking blow your brains out if it wasn't for this job. It's the only thing that keeps you going."

"That's a lie!"

"Then _act_ like it's a lie you selfish son-of-a-bitch! _Show_ us all that it's a lie." Phish and Alan locked eyes, both hating each other at that moment, but both knowing that everything had to be said. Eventually, the anger and tension began to loosen.

Phil let out a loud sigh and leaned up against the wall. Alan did the same. Phil checked his watch, noting that he only had three minutes left on his break.

"Alan," Phish began, "You're right. I just… I don't even know where to begin anymore."

Alan chuckled, "It's a sad day when a detective needs to ask a coroner for clues."

"Hey, you went to law school just like me. I think you're qualified."

Alan shrugged, saying, "I guess I would start like we always used to, by hunting down anyone that had ties to the suspect."

"No one has ties to the Tattle-Tale Strangler."

"Do you have fucking Alzheimer's or something? How could you forget that case twenty years ago? The one we studied when we were still in law school?"

Suddenly it all came flooding back to Phish, overwhelming him. "Oh sweet fucking Neptune, how could I have been so blind?" Phish's watch started to beep, alerting him that his break was over. "The Krusty Krab Killing! Twenty years ago… The Strangler…"

Phil looked at Alan, who seemed pleased with himself that he was able to snap Phish out of his melancholia.

"Well, Phil," Alan began, "Do you have any leads?"

"I need to find SpongeBob Squarepants."

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SpongeBob was sitting in a heap of soiled laundry, staring at Gary's cold corpse. He must've been so high that he forgot to feed him, or that he ate all of Gary's snail food himself. Poor little guy. SpongeBob buried himself deeper in the laundry, desperately seeking comfort.

 _Out of heroin._

 _I'm out of heroin._

The thought enveloped SpongeBob's entire being and filled him with an unshakeable dread. Without heroin, his mind wouldn't be dulled enough to withstand the barrage of memories that his mind will throw at him. Without heroin, he will be forced to _remember._

Laying in the heap of filth, SpongeBob began to sweat profusely, as another memory came to him. A memory that haunted him constantly and would never leave him be. A memory that signified the beginning to all of his problems.

It was the day he met The Strangler.


	11. Animal Without a Mouth

SpongeBob closed his eyes tightly, fighting against the black void that was threatening to overcome him. _Without the drugs, I won't be able to fucking stop them. The memories. The horrible memories. Please just let it all end!_ It was no use: he couldn't fight the oncoming onslaught of melancholy and darkness, and soon it swathed him in its excruciating grip.

Suddenly SpongeBob found himself in downtown Bikini Bottom on a beautiful spring day. He was sitting on a bench on Main Street, observing the busy working fish walking by, happily living their lives. SpongeBob couldn't help but smile – he loved his life. He loved his job. He loved his house. He loved his friends – and most of all he loved Sandy, who he was planning on proposing to on that very day. SpongeBob sucked in a deep breath, gathering his nerves before rising from the bench and entering the jewelry store on the corner.

"Can I help you sir?" a kind fish greeted him at the door. "Are you looking for something to impress a special lady? Or perhaps you're looking to customize your appearance with a selection of our lavish items for gentlemen."

SpongeBob let out a nervous chuckle which was interrupted by him clearing his throat. "Actually, I'm looking to pop the question to my girlfriend today." The fish clapped her hands in glee, letting out a giddy laugh as she grabbed SpongeBob by his shoulders and led him to the counter stocked with shockingly expensive merchandise.

"You must be very excited," the fish said eagerly. "This day is a special one, and demands only the most special of rings." She unlocked the counter and brought out a small black box with a large white price tag attached to it. "Yes, this is one of our most extravagant jewels – truly a work of sublime art that will make any girl say ' _Yes'_!" She flipped open the little box and revealed a blinding chrome ring, studded with four massive diamonds the likes of which SpongeBob had never seen. The fish looked up at SpongeBob's stunned face. "I know what you're thinking," she said.

"Do you?"

"Yes. You're thinking 'I'll take it!'"

"Well," SpongeBob replied meekly, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing around the room awkwardly. He felt embarrassed, like he was wasting the employee's time. "I don't know if I'd say that. I've kind of been saving up for this for a year now, but I still can't afford this. I don't make the best wage. But, I just can't take it anymore. I need to marry her – I love her too much. I can't wait any longer, so I'll take whatever you can give me."

"Ah," the fish responded, not missing a beat. She didn't appear to be fazed at all by SpongeBob's response, even though he killed her sales figures. She was a truly courteous and professional person. She reminded him of Sandy. "They do say that love is blind, don't they?" She continued. "So your beloved wouldn't be able to see all these fancy diamonds and the impeccable chrome in this piece anyway." She bent down and put the chrome ring back in the cabinet and replaced it with an even smaller black box. "Yes, you're a true working man with a heart of gold, and therefore I shall discount our already lowest-priced gold ring. A solid band of eighteen-karat splendor that will be sure to please even the most discerning of women."

SpongeBob couldn't help but smile. It was finally happening. Tonight he'll be the luckiest man in the world. It'll be the start of a whole new chapter of his life, living the rest of it happily-forever-after with his cherished Sandy. He'd dreamt of this day for years now, and when Sandy and he finally went on their first date he knew that she would be the one he'd marry. And now his dream was coming true. Nothing could ruin this day.

"I'll take it," SpongeBob said with a grin, slapping down a wad of cash onto the counter. He had blown his entire savings on this one ring, but it was a worthy investment. When one is in love, monetary gain and material things are secondary in life. He walked out of that store flat broke and ecstatic, whipping out his shell-phone and ringing up Sandy.

"Hello?" Sandy's chipper southern accent rang through the phone.

"Hey babe," SpongeBob said, trying hard to mask the excitement in his voice. If he acted too strangely, she would surely know something was up, spoiling the surprise. "How's about we hit up _Fancy!_ tonight for dinner to celebrate our anniversary?" There was an awkward silence on the other end. "Hello?"

"Y—Yeah, I heard ya," Sandy replied, her voice shaking. SpongeBob didn't take notice. "Sure thing, Sponge, I'll see ya there. How's about eight o'clock?"

"Sounds great Sandy! Can't wait!" He let out his patented laugh and Sandy hung up the phone without saying another word.

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"Sir, would you like any more wine while you wait for your lovely lady?" the waiter said politely to SpongeBob, who graciously declined. He got there extremely early so as not to make the fatal error of showing up late, and he told the staff and his waiter of his special plan that night.

"My, what a splendid night we're in for," the waiter said to SpongeBob. "We haven't seen a proposal in quite some time now. I'm just so happy for you. I wish you the best of luck!"

SpongeBob anxiously fidgeted around in his seat. "Thanks. Did you hide the ring in the breadbasket like I asked you to?"

The waiter chuckled. "Sir, the breadbasket has yet to be prepared. We wouldn't want another waiter to hand the ring to one very surprised guest, now would we?"

"Yeah," SpongeBob conceded. "I'm just… I'm just so nervous, you know? What if she says no?"

"Oh, there will be none of that pessimistic talk here. Not on this night," the waiter responded with enthusiasm. "But I will respectfully recommend another glass of wine to quell your nerves. This one's on the house." He turned and walked back to the bar, leaving SpongeBob alone.

After what seemed like decades, SpongeBob heard the door open and heard the mumbling of the hosts greeting. Before he knew it, Sandy was in the dining room, making her way towards SpongeBob – her face stone-like and pale. SpongeBob was too nervous to notice her gloomy demeanor and stood up to seat Sandy. "Thank you SpongeBob," Sandy said in a shaky voice. "It was very sweet of you to take me out like this, especially on our… on our anniversary."

SpongeBob let out a nervous laugh, trying desperately to hide his anxiety. "No problem Sandy. I just figured that this special night deserves a special meal to commemorate it." SpongeBob stared into Sandy's acorn-brown eyes. He was almost hypnotized by them. She nervously broke their gaze and glanced around the room before opening the menu without saying another word. SpongeBob continued to stare at her, observing her features. Her brown coat; her pink nose; her perky ears; her sensual curves, outlined by her form fitting dress that was specially made to allow her to equip the essential diving helmet. The helmet itself was invisible to SpongeBob – he had grown so used to it that he had forgot that it was even there, but even _that_ he loved. It was a part of her, and so he loved it.

"I love you," SpongeBob said out of the blue then looked down at his menu, perusing it. Sandy remained quiet, her eyes fixated on her menu. The waiter observed the awkward scene from afar and jauntily walked up to the couple, introducing himself and listing the specials of the evening. He set down the breadbasket and gave a sly wink to SpongeBob as he turned around and walked away, adding a quick thumbs up for good measure. The gravity of the situation suddenly dawned on SpongeBob – this will be a life changing night. His life will never be the same. It won't just be him and Gary anymore – it'll be him and his beautiful wife. He would never be lonely ever again. This is the night that everything changes.

"Sandy," he began, his voice shaking horribly as he fought to control his nerves. He picked up the breadbasket and offered it to Sandy. "May I offer you some bread?"

Sandy stared at SpongeBob and then glanced at the basket. "No thanks," she suddenly quipped before looking back down at her menu without another word.

SpongeBob felt a twinge of annoyance. "No, Sandy, I _really_ think that you should have some bread."

"I don't want any bread right now, Sponge, but thanks anyway."

SpongeBob let out a wheezy, anxious breath, shaking the breadbasket in front of Sandy's face in an effort to subconsciously suggest that there was something important inside. "No, you don't understand, you need to have some bread. Just take some bread. Please."

"Sponge, just fucking drop it," Sandy said in a harsh whisper, her face annoyed. She glanced around the dining room embarrassed, hoping that nobody was viewing this strange scene. A gentleman should never force bread on a lady, after all.

SpongeBob frustratedly shook his head and quickly dug the black box out of the breadbasket and stood up. Sandy's face went white as SpongeBob gingerly walked over to her side and got down on one knee, and the surrounding diners and employees all turned to watch with baited breath. One could hear a pin drop at that moment in the usually bustling dining room.

SpongeBob cleared his throat, and there were some whistles and cheers as the other diners attempted to support him. "Sandy, will you make me the luckiest man on the planet and marry me?" The whispers and clinking glasses stopped completely at that moment – everyone was waiting for an answer, and SpongeBob stared up longingly at Sandy's beautiful face, seeing the world and picturing the rest of his life.

Unexpectedly, Sandy stood up without a word and quickly walked out of the restaurant. SpongeBob still had a smile on his face, his expression glued by shock and awe. He stayed on one knee for a minute before the waiter came up to him and offered him a whiskey on the house and his sincere apologies. Before he knew it, everyone in the restaurant started to come up to him and offer their condolences – some said that things would get better; others said that she'll come around; one man even said that it took him four proposals before he was engaged with his wife. But the most common thing said was something that disturbed SpongeBob deeply: he'll find the right girl eventually. SpongeBob stood up and rushed out the door, knowing in his heart that the right girl had already come along and that there'll never be anyone like her ever again. Without Sandy, he was nothing.

He saw her sitting in her car, crying. He walked up to it slowly and tapped delicately on the glass. "Please, just let me talk with you," he pleaded. Sandy didn't look at him, and continued to cry. She put the keys in the ignition and turned it, the engine roaring to life. "Sandy, _please!_ " SpongeBob shouted, putting his hand on the glass, begging her not to leave. "Sandy, I love you. I want to be with you forever. Please don't go!"

"SpongeBob," Sandy said, her tears suddenly gone, leaving only faint streaks on her cheeks. She stared sternly at SpongeBob through the glass. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" SpongeBob said, his heart pounding, mind racing.

"I can't marry you."

" _Why?"_ he shouted.

"There's someone else!"

SpongeBob almost fainted from shock. His mind went blank for a split second before becoming a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Confusion, anger, sadness, heartbreak – all filled his mind, fighting for supremacy. That is, until blind hatred took over and cast away every other emotion. His mind suddenly broke completely, and a primal rage poured out of him. SpongeBob started pounding on the window in a blind rage. "You fucking _bitch!"_ he shouted, screaming at the top of his lungs. Sandy started to cry again, desperately trying to put the car in gear but fumbling the clutch due to her anxiety. "All these fucking years! What a fucking waste!" He began to kick the car door, denting it. Sandy began to scream for him to stop, her tears flowing at a new heightened intensity.

"Who is it? Who the hell's cock have you been riding all these fucking years?" He slammed his fist into the window, shattering his knuckles. Sandy let out a scream as blood started to cover the window as SpongeBob continued to slam his destroyed fists into the car, splitting the skin. "Should've fucking known. Should've known that you were a goddamn whore! The money I spent on you. The time I wasted on you. And for what? _This is how you repay me?"_

 _"_ SpongeBob, please stop!" Sandy screamed at the top of her lungs.

SpongeBob stopped assaulting the car and wiped away the blood from the window, staring directly into the car and glaring with his hate-filled eyes at Sandy. "I will find out who it was," SpongeBob growled. "And I want you to know that I will kill him. You hear me? I'll kill him. And when I'm done, I'll find you. So you better drive far away, little squirrel. Because, if I see you again, that'll be the last time I _ever_ see you."

Sandy sped off, horrified, and she heeded SpongeBob's words. No matter how hard he tried to look for her, he never saw or heard from her again. His mind, however, kept reminding him of the horrible betrayal. The words played like a record in his mind constantly – _There's someone else._ He couldn't live with the taunting of his mind anymore. His work at the Krusty Krab had suffered, and Mr. Krabs went so far as to put SpongeBob on probation. On top of that, because of his ludicrous spending on the ring, SpongeBob was now falling behind on his mortgage payments. His world was falling apart, and it was all because of that bitch squirrel. He needed something to forget his problems, and fast – something to take the edge off; something that will allow him to make his life normal again.

And so that's how the dark descent began. Scouring the back alleys of the darkest pits of Bikini Bottom, SpongeBob began to sample every drug on the market. He tried marijuana, but found that it made him horribly paranoid. He tried cocaine, but to his dismay it only made his mind work in overtime, reminding him of his horrible life instead of dulling his senses. He tried pills, but those were effectively worthless.

Still SpongeBob searched for something that would cure his diseased mind, and one night he found it, peddled by an unlikely and unsavory vendor – The Tattletale Strangler.


	12. The False Prophet

SpongeBob's life was in shambles. It had been a few months since the fiasco at the restaurant that fateful night – the night when Sandy destroyed every ounce of humanity left in his body. She broke his heart, but even worse, she had broken his mind. He was fired from the Krusty Krab due to hygiene issues; SpongeBob gave up washing as he began to rely more and more on chemicals in order to survive. He had gotten into an argument with Mr. Krabs and in a fit of rage assaulted his former boss with a spatula, which was almost white-hot from being left on the grill for too long. Mr. Krabs called the police and SpongeBob was thrown out onto the streets, vowing vengeance on the geriatric crab and his establishment. Mr. Krabs and Squidward both scoffed at his tirade – they both knew that the only thing SpongeBob was capable of nowadays was locking himself in his house and getting high while watching adult films. They were right. However, what they weren't aware of was that SpongeBob was now suffering from horrifying visions; apparitions would visit him in the night, tormenting him and torturing him, laying their filthy, decaying hands upon him and abusing him. That same night, SpongeBob returned to his house and took enough barbiturates to put him in a coma for three days, and yet the visions still haunted him in his sleep.

He could feel his mind unravelling more and more by the day, his grip on reality slipping further into the abyss. Living life without drugs was too painful, but they were starting to lose their effect. He needed something stronger, something that would keep his memories at bay for as long as he was awake and put him in a dreamless sleep for as long as he was unconscious – and he needed it now.

SpongeBob stepped outside into the cold late night and began the long walk to downtown Bikini Bottom. He glanced around him, paranoid that the authorities were watching him, and he picked up the pace. When he reached downtown, his feet were covered in blisters from the frantic speed of his walking coupled with the looseness of his untied tennis-shoes. The glare from the streetlights stung his eyes, and he began to scour the nooks and crannies of Bikini Bottom's seedy underbelly, desperately searching for a cure for his mind. He began to feel dejected, however, as the night droned on, and he couldn't find any product that would satisfy him. The usual cretinous peddlers of the night attempted to sell him marijuana and other hallucinogens, much to the dissatisfaction of SpongeBob. He had tried it all before already, and it never worked. SpongeBob declined one offer after another, garnering the ire of many an unsavory denizen.

SpongeBob miserably sat down on a bench in a crime-ridden area of downtown, praying to Neptune that someone would jaunt up and put him out of his misery. He thought that he was fated to forever be tortured by his memories, constantly reminding him of his inadequacies; telling him that his life was just one miserable misadventure to the next. Life wasn't worth living. He put his head in his hands, fighting back tears. _Maybe I should just buy a gun. Screw the drugs. If I'm dead, the visions will stop. I can't fucking take it anymore—_

"Hey kid, come over here, will ya?" a deep, baritone voice crooned from the shadows of an alley. SpongeBob lifted his head from his hands and stared into those shadows, trying to discern the face of his caller. "Come on," the voice pleaded in a playful tone. "I won't bite, but this shit I've got here sure will. Wait, you're not a cop, are ya?"

"No, I'm not," SpongeBob said, rising from the bench and walking towards the man. As he approached him, his face came into view. It was a hardened visage, with scars and years of aging – a man of the street indeed. He wore a leather jacket and was at least a foot taller than SpongeBob. He was an intimidating figure, but the prospect of a new product intrigued him. "What do you have to show me, boss?" SpongeBob asked.

The man chuckled and dug into a dirty trashcan, fishing out a black trash bag. SpongeBob reeled back in disgust, but the man paid it no mind. He opened up the bag and brought out a syringe and a powdered substance in a tiny baggie. "This much will run you five-hundred clams."

"Five-hundred?" SpongeBob nearly shouted in surprise. "What the hell is it?"

"Heroin. Pure, sweet heroin." The man explained. "It'll get you high as a fuckin' kite. You won't even know what planet you're on, man." He could see a confused expression on SpongeBob's face and let out a sigh. "You're telling me you've never heard of heroin?"

"I don't care what the hell it is," SpongeBob replied in an annoyed tone. "For five-hundred bucks, that's out of the question. I'm not the richest man in the sea."

"Well let me cut you a deal, then," the man began, smiling. "This one'll be on the house. But this bag is the only freebie. After that, you gotta promise to come to me for all further transactions. Sound good, bud?" The man showed a yellowed grin, and SpongeBob contemplated the offer for all of two seconds. It was a no-brainer. Free drugs, and if they didn't work he'd never have to see this guy again. There was no way in hell that he'd pass that kind of offer up.

"Looks like you've got yourself a deal," SpongeBob said, grabbing the narcotics from the man's hand. Before he knew it, the man began to walk away, disappearing into the shadows. "Hey, what's your name? How do I find you?"

There was a long pause, and SpongeBob began to wonder if the man had already left. Suddenly, the deep voice replied, "No names. And I'll find _you_." SpongeBob could hear the man's footsteps disappearing into the night, and he made his way back home.

He slammed the door and turned off the lights, panting frantically and his heart racing as he plopped down onto the ground and began to assemble his merchandise. He had seen heroin on documentaries before, and he felt confident that he knew how to inject it. Without wasting any time, he grabbed a spoon and poured the contents of the baggie onto it, dissolving it with water and then heated it up with a lighter. His mouth went dry due to anticipation, and his mind began to race. Could this be the end to all of his problems?

He grabbed the dirty needle from the bag and sucked the contents of the spoon into it, plunging it into his arm without hesitation. He winced in pain as the needle pierced his flesh, and then let out a moan of absolute pleasure. The effect was almost instantaneous. He collapsed onto his back as the room began to spin, his dreary and neglected house turning into a circus of colors and life. A tear fell from his eye, but he didn't have the presence of mind to wipe it away. _I'm cured. No more memories, no more visions. Nothing can hurt me anymore. I'm finally free._

Not even a week passed before SpongeBob was out of his beloved heroin, and he was now thoroughly hooked. His sober mind constantly punished him, bombarding him with visions and pain – but the heroin cured his ailments. He needed to find more, and would do anything to get his hands on it.

He made his way back to the seedy area of downtown, the area where he had met the man. He waited and waited for what seemed like ages, his head throbbing and almost reducing him to tears. _I need more, I can't wait any longer. I need_ _ **more.**_

"Told you I'd find you," the same deep voice called out from the shadows. SpongeBob was relieved to hear the voice and nearly sprinted into the alleyway, almost tackling the man. "Back for more already? Shit, I knew you'd love it. I can tell by your eyes that you're jonesin' for another taste. Ready to pay up?"

SpongeBob's heart sank. He forgot about the price. There was no way that he could afford to drop five-hundred bucks on another hit of heroin when he couldn't even afford to feed himself most days. "I'm sorry," SpongeBob began, his voice shaking anxiously. "I'm sorry, but I don't have the money right now. But I swear – I _swear_ that I will pay you back with interest if you just give me a little bit more."

The man smiled his rotten smile. "You know I can't do that little Sponge. But maybe I can have you do something for me."

"I'll do anything," SpongeBob pleaded on the verge of tears. "Anything you want me to do, I'll do it."

Suddenly the man grabbed SpongeBob by the wrist and dragged him with shocking force over to a disgusting car parked on the curb. He tore open the door and threw SpongeBob inside and ran around to get into the driver's seat. He sped off, leaving bubbles in his wake. "Where are we going?" SpongeBob asked meekly, nervous and unsure of what to expect from the strange man.

"Nowhere special," he replied. After a half hour they arrived at an isolated shack miles outside of the city. "Go inside," the man said forcefully. SpongeBob didn't reply or ask any questions, thinking it better to do as he was told. He walked through the door and was disgusted by the state of the place. The walls were crumbling and the ceiling was falling, asbestos drifting down to the floorboards like snow. "Home sweet home, right?" The man said behind SpongeBob, startling him.

"So, what do you want me to do?" SpongeBob asked. "Do you have any more heroin here?"

"Hell yeah, I've got a whole bunch," the man said with a sinister smile.

"Is that why we came here?"

"Yeah, I'll give you as much as you want after you do me a little favor."

"What do you want me to do?" The man stared at SpongeBob for what seemed like a long while, and SpongeBob met his gaze. He saw the man lick his lips, looking as if he had something to say. Abruptly, the man moved forward, pulled SpongeBob close and grabbed his crotch. "What the fuck are you—" SpongeBob said in shock, interrupted by the man pressing his dry lips against his, the man's sour breath enveloping his mouth. SpongeBob struggled but couldn't break free from the man's grasp, and his hands continued to abuse him.

"You want heroin right? I'll give you all the heroin you could ever want," the man said excitedly between breaths, pushing SpongeBob into the bedroom and slamming the door absent-mindedly. He pressed SpongeBob into the bed, squirming and fighting against his hold. "You said you'd do anything right?"

SpongeBob didn't say anything but slowly nodded his head in shame, accepting his fate. The man smiled and ravaged him for an hour.

The nights passed by in a similar manner from then on. If SpongeBob was out of heroin, he'd visit the man in the alley and be whisked off back to the decrepit shack, offering his body for payment. The man would always keep his word, procuring heroin and sending SpongeBob on his way after he was through with him. This was SpongeBob's new life, and after a while he didn't mind it – the heroin made it all worth it.

The symbiotic relationship lasted for years without a change until one strange night. SpongeBob, out of heroin, his mind desperate for relief, made his usual rounds around downtown Bikini Bottom in order to seek out the man. Everything was normal enough. The man called him over eventually and the two got in his car and rode out to his shack on the outskirts of town. SpongeBob robotically entered the shack and made his way into the bedroom and began to strip absent-mindedly, preparing for their usual transaction.

"Not today kid," the man said, standing in the doorway.

"What?" SpongeBob replied with surprise.

"I need you to do something else for me. I've run into a little problem."

"I'm listening," SpongeBob said awkwardly as he fumbled to put his underpants back on.

"I need you to listen closely," the man said with a grim smile. "If you don't do this for me there will _never_ be any more heroine for you. The well will dry up. Understand?"

SpongeBob's face went pale and he nodded his head. "I understand."

"Good," the man said, walking towards SpongeBob and caressing his face. "I need you to kill somebody for me," He added abruptly.

" _What?"_

"Let me remind you that the heroine will be gone forever if you don't do this. And by now you owe me a few hundreds of thousands of dollars." The man couldn't help but cackle. He stood up and walked over to the window, peering out at the nothingness surrounding the shack.

"Who the fuck are you?" SpongeBob said in disgust.

"You still haven't figured it out by now?" The man said, evil glee in his voice. He walked back over to SpongeBob and brought his face close to his. "I'm the Tattletale Strangler."


End file.
